


The Second Assistant: The Sequel

by purpleann



Series: The Second Assistant [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, No plot whatsoever, Sequel, Text-speak, inappropriate use of a motorcycle, sexy fun times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleann/pseuds/purpleann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa gets her motorcycle ride, but still wants more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa Drops Some Hints

**Author's Note:**

> The oft-requested sequel is here! Sansa and Sandor on their first date. Well, *after* their first date. This is WAY too long for what it is, and would be PWP if it was more porny...although it turned out too porny for an “M” rating, if that makes sense. Enjoy!
> 
>  

There was buzzing in her ears, a hot flush all over her skin, and a churning in her belly that felt like butterflies fighting to get out. Sansa felt the tightening in her chest that meant she needed a breath of air, but the last thing she wanted to do was tear her lips away from him. 

 

Sandor's big hands were running slowly up and down her back, bringing her closer to him with each pass, until her breasts were crushed up against his hard chest. One of his hands moved up to cradle her head, while the other slid down to grip her ass almost painfully, and he was slowly leaning into her, tilting her further and further back, until she was nearly leaning against the handlebars of his big black motorcycle. 

 

She had no fear that he would drop her, but welcomed the excuse to wrap her arms further around his neck, and tighten her legs around his waist. He kissed her slow and deep, and with a sort of passionate reverence; Sandor's kisses made Sansa feel cherished, like something rare and precious. His heat, his strength...his warm, leathery smell, his very _presence_ was overwhelming, but still she couldn't get enough. She never wanted him to let go, she just wanted _more_. 

 

She had convinced Sandor to give her a ride home nearly every night for the past few weeks, but he hadn't kissed her at all (despite what she felt was fairly heavy hinting on her part) until last week. That night it was barely more than a peck, and he looked more surprised than anything else when she leaned in for it. 

 

Luckily the shock was short-lived, and he kissed her back surprisingly gently. He pulled away quickly though – too quickly – and his words were soft and just barely more than a whisper, so Sansa knew he wasn't angry or disgusted...

 

“Where did that come from, little bird?”

 

Sansa couldn't have answered even if she wanted to; she honestly didn't have an explanation for why she felt so attracted to Sandor. At the time, all she could do was blush, and run inside her apartment building. Just as the doorman was holding the door open for her, she looked back to smile at Sandor, and saw that he was staring after her from the back of his motorcycle, an unreadable look on his face.

 

The next night the kiss wasn't any more intense, but it did last a bit longer. 

 

Even now, as she sat straddling him on his motorcycle, with his hands all over her and his tongue in her mouth, she had no explanation.

 

Everything Jeyne said about him was true: he was _only_ a security guard, and on top of being horribly scarred, he had a generally bad attitude, as well as what Sansa suspected was something of a drinking problem. 

 

But he also had a wicked smile, a snarky sense of humor, broad shoulders, and irresistible gray eyes with still-unknown depths. Sansa found she rather _liked_ his scars. She had had enough of pretty boys with empty heads and lies on their lips. She was quite sure that Sandor would never lie to her; he was actually rather _too_ honest in most cases. 

 

The appeal of his motorcycle, and how he looked riding it with his long hair unbound and wearing a black leather jacket couldn't be overlooked, either. Besides, the intense way he looked at her made her feel hot and cold and shaky and dizzy all at once. Joffrey's insipid smiles had never done that. 

 

Now she almost couldn't remember a time when she _wasn't_ fascinated by Sandor. It seemed to Sansa like she had been wanting him forever; that the first time she hinted she'd like a motorcycle ride was _years ago_ now, and not just a month or so ago. She thought about him nearly every day, but still couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about him that intrigued her so; why he constantly made her want _more_. 

 

Their first date was only a few hours old, but Sansa was feeling pretty confident she'd get what she wanted tonight. 

 

Sandor released her lips to run his mouth back and forth on her neck, and bury his nose in her hair. Sansa took a huge breath, only to let it out again in a shivery sigh as his rough stubble scratched along her jawline. Goosebumps erupted across her chest and down over her nipples, and she pressed herself against him to relieve the ache. He had straightened up on his motorcycle, and she clung to him with her legs and arms wrapped around him. She felt his hardness between her thighs, and couldn't help rubbing herself against him as he sucked on her neck. Sansa had never felt anything like this; she never knew anything like this was _possible_.

 

“Sandor...please! Please, I need...I – I need...”

 

“What do you need, little bird? What do you want? Tell me and I'll give it to you.”

 

Even as his deep, raspy voice thrilled her, Sansa didn't really know _what_ she needed. She had never been with a boy like this, and had never kissed any _man_ at all before Sandor. Nobody had ever made her feel this way, and she had never felt such a desperate _need_ in her life, even if she wasn't exactly clear on what it was she needed.

 

Sansa let out a frustrated sigh and tried to squirm even closer to him, although there was hardly any room left between them. She felt hot all over, but still shivered when she felt his calloused hands sneak under her top to touch her bare back. She couldn't understand how Sandor's touch made her _ache_ everywhere, but she didn't want him to stop touching her, not for anything. 

 

Their position, with Sandor sitting on his motorcycle and Sansa straddling his lap, seemed deliciously wicked when they first started kissing, but now seemed totally inadequate. Sansa wanted more. 

 

“I want to see you...I want to feel you,” she whispered into his ruined ear, and thrilled at the growl that rumbled through him, and how his hands tightened around her waist. Sansa let her hands slide up under his shirt, fingering the soft hair and the tight, heavy muscles of his broad chest. She wondered what he looked like under there. Did he have terrible scars on his chest, too? Would he ever tell her how he got them? Would she get to see _all_ of him tonight?

 

She was pulling on the hem of his shirt, when Sandor grabbed her hands, stopping their exploration, and Sansa let out an embarrassingly whiny noise in protest. Not only did she not want to stop touching him, she felt a sudden chill when he took his hands away from her back, and pulled his lips away from her neck.

 

He leaned his forehead against hers and took a few deep breaths with his eyes closed. Sansa wiggled a bit more in his lap, and tried to get her hands free to touch him again, but he wouldn't budge.

 

“Slow down, little bird...slow down. I'm not going to let you strip me here in the park, sitting on my bike.” 

 

Sansa was still panting a bit, and trying in vain to twist her wrists out of his iron grip. She didn't realize she was trying to take his shirt off, but now that he mentioned it, that sounded like an excellent plan!

 

“Take me home, then!” Sansa blurted, and her mind started reeling with increasingly scandalous (although admittedly vague) scenarios; if possible, she felt even _more_ flushed. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Sandor... I want you to take me home.” 

 

 

 


	2. Sandor Doesn't Like Hints

He jerked away from her with a pained look, and suddenly let go of her wrists. Sansa let out a little happy squeal at being released, and was half-way to diving for his mouth again, when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her off the bike and away from him. 

 

He stood up as well, with his motorcycle between them. He had his eyes closed again, and was alternately adjusting his fly and clenching his fists. 

 

Sansa hurriedly fixed her hair and her shirt, trying to make herself look presentable, while her mind ran away with her...what excuse could she text Jeyne with? Should she even send a text at all? Would that be preemptive? She wasn't even technically _late_ yet, Jeyne wouldn't miss her for hours still...sending a text now would just seem like she was _plotting_ to be late, and then there would definitely be explanations and possibly a lecture in the morning... _wait, in the morning!?! how late am I planning on...!?!_

 

Sansa was already imagining 24 hours into the future, when she realized that Sandor was giving her a funny look. 

 

“Sandor? What is it? Are you...do you...not want to...?”

 

He shot her a stern look and sat heavily on the bike, this time in front, so she could slide behind him. Sansa eagerly jumped on and snuggled up to his back, kissing him on the back of his neck as she settled in, and immediately slipping her hands up the front of his shirt. The leather of his jacket was curiously soft against her cheek, and had the _nicest_ smell – warm, and a bit spicy – very _him_. 

 

But Sandor was not firing up the bike, she could feel his muscles tense underneath her fingertips and her cheek, and hear his short breaths, as if he was trying to rein in his temper. 

 

“Sandor?” she tried again. “What's wrong, I thought...”

 

He again forcefully removed her hands from his body, gripping her a bit harder than she strictly thought necessary. 

 

“Sansa, what in seven hells do you want with me?” His voice was low and growly, and would have normally sent shivers up her spine, but something about his tone was like a bucket of ice water dumped on her. He sounded so _cold._ What had she done to anger him? Was he horrified at how forward she was being? 

 

“Sandor, I thought...I thought you were going to take me home? Because you said...you said that we couldn't...out here, in public, and I just thought, I mean...I want...I want to...”

 

He was staring straight ahead, and Sansa really wished he would turn and _look_ at her again, with that glint in his stormy eyes that made her insides melt. 

 

“...I don't want to stop.” She said this last bit in a tiny whisper against his shoulder, but she knew he heard her. His rapid breathing froze completely; he held his breath for a moment, and Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, and wrapped her arms around his waist again. She couldn't bear it if he called her a...a...slut or something. _It's his fault anyway!_ she thought furiously, making her _feel_ this way and _say_ these things!

 

Sandor let out the breath he was holding, and she felt his muscles relax. 

 

“You mean, you _don't_ want me to take you home? Which is it girl? I can't read your mind, little bird, and your hands are saying something different from your mouth!” 

 

Sansa's eyes widened in understanding. He thought she wanted to go home _alone_. It seemed that she was going to have to be much more direct with Sandor. She should have known; hinting that she wanted him to kiss her _weeks ago_ hadn't worked, after all. 

 

Her hands wandered back underneath his shirt, to that patch of skin right above his belt buckle that she couldn't seem to stay away from. Her fingers scratched along the tight muscles of his belly, and she felt how his soft chest hair narrowed into a trail that led to his waistband and below. She _really_ wanted to see where it led.

 

“I'm happy to stay right here Sandor...I told you I want to _see you_. But you said I couldn't if we stayed here in the park, so...” 

 

That got his attention. He finally turned to look at her over his shoulder, and Sansa was once again disappointed to lose contact with his skin. He slid his big hand up her thigh and squeezed her hip, signaling that she should dismount the bike. When he was free to get up himself, he stood next to her this time, looming over her and nearly blocking out the moonlight, so that the burned half of his face was in shadow. 

 

He slid one huge hand under her hair and behind her neck, and tilted her head back to face him. He looked at her for a long moment, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, and then slowly back and forth across her bottom lip. The look in his dark gray eyes made Sansa's heart beat faster. She smiled at him, and hoped he was going to kiss her again...

 

He smirked back at her, but didn't lean in for a kiss. “You need to worry less about getting my shirt off and _seeing me,_ and more about getting home back to your cage, little bird. Won't your friend Jeyne be missing you? I'll not have the City Watch after me for kidnapping Sansa Stark.” 

 

Sansa giggled, thinking that Jeyne was very unlikely to think about calling the City Watch, at least for another few hours. Jeyne was hostessing at the Red Keep tonight, and always stayed late in case her favorite customer came in, some ginger bloke named Beric. Still, there were _rules_.

 

Sandor was still rubbing her bottom lip, and Sansa had the absurd urge to take his thumb into her mouth and suck on it. She closed her eyes briefly to clear her mind of such a wanton thought. When she spoke again, she sounded as if she had run the whole length of the Street of Silk. Being touched by Sandor was not good for her heart rate. 

 

Her voice was breathy and her heart was pounding in her chest, but she knew now was not the time to be shy. Sandor asked her to tell him what she wanted, and to be clear about it. Although that was quite a bit bigger question than Sansa could truly deal with at the moment, one thing she was absolutely sure about, and that was what she _didn't want_ : Sansa definitely didn't want the night to end, not yet. 

 

“Jeyne won't call the City Watch...especially if I text her not to expect me...but we _did_ promise each other not to bring boyfriends home, so...” Sandor's eyebrows rose and he looked both surprised and amused. “So I guess...I-I guess you'll have to take me to _your_ place.” 


	3. Sandor Gives In

Sandor made (what seemed to Sansa) a half-hearted attempt to talk her out of going home with him. She could tell he wanted her (despite her lack of experience, Sansa _always_ knew when men wanted her), but for some reason, he felt the need to resist. Sansa didn't care about his reservations; she just wanted _more_.

 

Something about how _gently_ he pushed at her hands when she tried to take off his shirt...and the way he quietly insisted that she go back to “her cage”...instead of discouraging her, it made Sansa even more determined to get her way. She was _not_ going to let Sandor take her to her own apartment tonight...unless he was going to stay there with her! She giggled at the thought of Jeyne's face if she woke up to find Sandor Clegane in their kitchen, shirtless and scarred and grumpy…the image was admittedly fuzzy, because of course she didn't really know what he looked like without his shirt...but she was determined to find out!

 

Sansa knew she was wearing him down when he let her distract him with more kisses. They were no longer perched on his bike, so she had to stand on her toes and grip his shoulders to keep kissing him. Slowly, Sansa's brain was turning into a muddled mess. His big, warm hands around her waist and his teeth nipping at her lips were making it impossible to form coherent sentences. It was a good thing she knew he would give in soon, because she certainly wasn't capable of more debating.

 

She had come up with real, logical arguments against Sandor's protests (his place was in a bad part of town; she shouldn't be out so late; she shouldn't be out with _him_ at all...blah, blah blah), but now, kissing him again, feeling his hands on her body and his breath on her face, words were suddenly completely meaningless. All she could do was feel, and all she felt was a burning need...a need for _more_.

 

The hot, needy ache between her legs was growing again. She knew the (somewhat unclear) things she longed for were...inappropriate, but she was long past caring. So when she got the sudden urge to wrap her legs around him, she gave in _immediately_. Slowly, with her arms locked around his neck and her tongue in his mouth, she dragged one leg and then the other up around his hips, crossing her ankles behind his back.

 

Sandor released her mouth to laugh a bit, as his hands lowered to her bottom to support her weight.

 

“A bit anxious, are we, little bird?”

 

Sansa just nodded, totally unconcerned that he was laughing at her. She didn't care if he teased her all night, as long as he never stopped touching her. He chuckled darkly and his massive hands squeezed her ass, making Sansa tremble when she felt his hardness press against her center. She let out a gasp, and couldn't help how her hips started to rock against him, as his mouth fell to her neck, leaving hot, scratchy kisses there.

 

Sandor growled into her neck, and sucked on her earlobe, and Sansa couldn't help calling out his name. She felt wanton and weak, and dizzy and _wild_. Her eyes fell closed, and she concentrated on just _feeling_...she couldn't decide whether she wanted his lips on hers again, or whether she wanted more of his scratchy kisses on her neck...and other places on her body. She loved how his strong arms supported her so effortlessly, but she also wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin. She loved burying her hands in his long dark hair, but also wanted to get him out of his clothes...she wanted to get out of her _own_ clothes. The only thing she didn't like about the plan of going to his place, was that they were going to have to stop making out to get there.

 

~

 

Eventually Sandor gave up on trying to discourage her, and they ended up back on his bike. Sansa was snuggled up against his back, trying not to feel smug that he finally relented, _as she knew he would!_   Sandor fired up his bike and they were off, with Sansa's arms wrapped firmly around him, and her hands tucked under the front of his shirt.

 

They rode through King's Landing, staying mostly off the main thoroughfares and winding through the city on secondary roads and alleyways. Sandor drove a little bit faster than usual, and it gave Sansa such a thrill to imagine that he was as excited to continue their little tryst as she was! They whipped around corners, and Sansa leaned into the turns, just like Sandor had taught her, and gripped him a little tighter each time. Who would have thought she had such a taste for danger? Sansa laughed to herself when she thought what her family would think if they could see her now.

 

Arya was much more likely to be speeding around on the back of a motorcycle with a much older man. Surely her parents and her brothers would be shocked to see Sansa behave so...improperly. The thought made her smile wickedly, and resolve to text Arya in the morning with a full report of what happened tonight. She'd be shocked senseless to hear from Sansa at all, but this seemed like the sort of thing a girl had to share with her sister. Sansa was pretty sure Arya would at least appreciate the _motorcycle-and-leather-jacket_ portion of the story, if nothing else.

 

Just as Sandor had warned her, his neighborhood was nothing like the gleaming sharpness of downtown King's Landing, or even the more modest, but still posh area where she and Jeyne lived. As they wound through the streets on the back of Sandor's bike, the buildings got shorter and shabbier, and the roads narrowed and became rough and more crooked. The shiny steel and glittering glass she was used to gave way to plain brick buildings, some red and brown and others painted over and marked with inscrutable graffiti. Everything was a bit rougher around the edges...the manicured gardens and meticulously landscaped walkways of the city center were no more. Wherever there was vegetation, it grew wild and unkempt, without any design or pattern, bursting through cracks in concrete and overtaking abandoned buildings completely. But there were still pops of color here and there, where flowers that Sansa didn't recognize grew wild.

 

They pulled up to a small parking lot in front of a narrow, whitewashed brick building, one of seven that formed a ring around a small courtyard. When the roar of Sandor's motorcycle was suddenly silenced, Sansa realized with a start how _quiet_ it was this far outside the city center. There weren't many lights on in the apartment buildings, and not a soul was out walking the circular path or sitting on the benches in the courtyard.

 

“Where are all your neighbors, Sandor?” Sansa couldn't resist asking, even though she knew he'd probably tease her for being _nosy_.

 

He laughed gruffly. “At this hour? My neighbors are mostly grumpy old veterans, little bird, the buggers are probably all in bed. And a good thing, too...they'd die of shock if they saw the likes of me with a pretty little thing like you.”

 

He grabbed her hand and led her through the courtyard, to the building in the back. Sansa continued to peer around at the other buildings, hoping for a glimpse of one of these “grumpy veterans.” For the first time, Sansa wondered if Sandor was a military veteran too. She knew that after the War many of them went into private security...it would make sense if he had done the same. Sansa smiled, thinking that Sandor probably had all kinds of medals of honor for valiant service. Cersei wouldn't hire anyone but the best to protect her precious golden boy. She decided later she'd make Sandor show them to her.

 

Inside, the apartment was neat but very plain. It seemed bigger than it looked from the outside, but that was probably because there was hardly any furniture in it. There was no over-sized entertainment center like what her brothers had, but there was a huge cabinet with many serious looking firearms inside, as well as a long sword with an elaborate braided silk cord mounted over the fireplace. Sansa smiled at this confirmation of his military service, because she recognized the sword. Her Uncle Benjen had one almost exactly like it for his dress uniform, only his scabbard and cord were black, and Sandor's was white.

 

After curiously taking in every detail of the room, Sansa turned to face Sandor, and her smile widened. He looked awkward and strangely shy, and Sansa got the feeling that he rarely invited people into his living space. The idea that she was allowed this intimacy with him thrilled her, and made her want to kiss him again.

 

“Well...like I said it's not much. Not anything like what you're used to, I'm sure, but...”

 

Sandor never got to finish, because Sansa planted her mouth on his again, pushing at his shoulders to remove his leather jacket.

 

“No more talking, eh, little bird?”

 

Sansa smirked and shook her head, dropping his jacket on the floor.

 

“Nope, no more talking. I want to _see you_ , Sandor.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for indulging me in this ridiculous bit of R-rated fluff. I hope it has (so far) lived up to the anticipation! One more chapter to go!


	4. Sansa Gets What She Wants

She pushed him into the big chair in the corner of his living room, and climbed into his lap. Her hands were all over him: gently caressing the scarred side of his face, running through his dark hair, and sliding up under his shirt, as they had been doing all night. She just couldn't stop touching him! 

 

This time, Sandor didn't stop her from trying to undress him. Their lips separated for the barest possible moment, only long enough to get Sandor's shirt off – _finally_ – so Sansa could at last have the view she'd been wanting all night. She kissed him for just a bit longer, before sitting back and taking a good look. Just as she imagined, he was _very fit,_ with tight muscles across his broad chest that tapered to his rippling (really, it was the _only_ appropriate word...Sansa couldn't wait to describe it to Jeyne) abdomen. She boldly fingered that narrow trail of hair that had intrigued her earlier, and was very gratified to hear Sandor's sharp intake of breath, and feel his hands tighten around her waist. 

 

Sansa rubbed her hands through his chest hair, and felt the network of faint scars that were only partially hidden underneath. None were as awful as the burns on his face, but there were so many! She knew his visible scars only hinted at the horror he'd seen, and she had the urge to kiss every single one of them. 

 

The thought of kissing him everywhere led to the lascivious thought of _licking_ him everywhere, and Sansa shivered at the idea of what Sandor – the rest of him – must _taste_ like. His kisses tasted like winter and spice and woodsmoke, and Sansa fell against him again, desperate for more of them. Her mouth was on his once more, and she wondered vaguely if her lips would ever get tired, and then quickly decided she didn't care. She pressed herself impossibly closer, feeling his hard chest against her breasts and his long hair in her hands. His answering groan rumbled through them both, and Sansa sighed when she felt how hard he was again. 

 

Without her permission, her hips started to slowly rotate where she straddled his lap, grinding her aching core into him, making her breathless and anxious and tingly. One of Sandor's big hands clamped onto her backside, pushing her against him harder and harder, while his other hand slowly trailed up her back, underneath her shirt. 

 

All the while, Sandor kissed her into madness, never tearing his lips from hers, except to suck on her neck or nip at her earlobes. Sansa was absolutely drunk on desire, decadently reveling in the completely new feelings that Sandor's touch stirred in her, but greedily wanting _more_. 

 

She arched her back and threw back her head, baring her neck to him and silently begging for more kisses there. Every hot lash of his tongue and harsh rasp of his stubble fueled her lust, intensifying the heavy, hot feeling between her legs to a nearly unbearable degree.

 

Suddenly she felt cool air on her skin, and Sansa knew her shirt had joined his on the floor. She opened her eyes to see Sandor staring at her, and felt herself blush and smile nervously, even though it was long past the time to be shy.

 

She was wearing her absolute best La Perla bra; it was the perfect shade of light blue and was made completely of delicate lace. It gave her just the right amount of cleavage without being too slutty. Sansa felt her nipples harden under Sandor's scrutiny, and wanted desperately for him to touch her there. It seemed all she could do that night was _want_. Sandor stared reverently for a few moments more, and Sansa's blush deepened impossibly. 

 

“You're fucking perfect, little bird,” Sandor growled. “You're fucking perfect and I'm the luckiest dog that ever lived.” Sansa didn't even have time to be flustered by his praise, as Sandor stood up abruptly and threw her over his shoulder. He smacked her lightly on the bum and the shock of it made her giggle; before she knew it, they were in his bedroom and Sansa found herself flung onto his bed. Sandor immediately climbed over her, trapping her in the cage of his massive arms, and cut off her laughing with more of his deep kisses.

 

Sandor abandoned her mouth to rub his face between her breasts, grinning when the scratch of his stubble made her giggle and shudder with arousal at the same time. Without removing her bra, he gently peeled away the lacy cups to reveal her pale nipples, and licked and sucked at them for what felt like a torturous eternity. Sansa was completely shocked at how good it felt, and couldn't help a needy whine that escaped her mouth when he finally moved on, kissing down her belly and rubbing his stubbly face on her the entire way. 

 

Sandor rested his chin on the waistband of her jeans, and fixed his dark eyes on hers.

 

“Are you sure you want this? I'll stop whenever you want me to, little bird, I...I don't want you to regret anything.”

 

She was sprawled on Sandor's bed, with her legs spread wide for him and her breasts bare. Her nipples were flushed pink and glistening wet, and she _should_ have felt shamed by the display...but instead she felt bold and bright, and powerful in a vulnerable way. 

 

Sansa stared down at him, at his dark eyes and scarred face. She shouldn't want him so much, but she did – _so much_ – and there was no use denying it. Suddenly the _want_ that she had been indulging all night was tinged with a very specific kind of fear...the thrilling, hopeful kind felt the moment before some daring feat. Of _course_ she was sure she wanted this! 

 

Sansa was so wound up she couldn't even answer him, and just nodded frantically. 

 

Her hands were shaking with anticipation and nerves, or she would have helped him undress her. She expected him to laugh and tease her about being so anxious and needy, but Sandor's eyes were serious, and his hands were gentle when they slid her jeans and her lacy panties off in one smooth motion. 

 

Somehow Sandor had lost his pants as well, and suddenly they were _naked_ together. _This is what I've wanted all night,_ she thought dimly, and let herself get lost in sensation. She felt Sandor's hands and his mouth all over her, and heard his low, raspy voice, gently telling her how perfect she was, and how much he wanted to make her feel good. She felt like she could be like this with him forever. 

 

Finally the haze of ever-mounting arousal and constant want cleared; Sansa was brought back to reality by a growl from Sandor, and the feeling of his teeth dragging along the tender flesh of her inner thigh. 

 

“Let me taste you, little bird. Let me lick your sweet little cunt and make you scream...I bet you'll taste just like honey...” His fingers were entwined with hers, and he was looking up at her from between her spread legs, and the intense, almost desperate look in his dark eyes made it impossible for Sansa to feel self-conscious. He was _begging_ her, not asking permission, and unbelievably, impossibly, she was more aroused than ever. He correctly took her incoherent moaning as a yes, and started to lick her.

 

Sansa had _heard_ of such a thing, of course. Myranda, her neighbor from across the hall, had regaled her and Jeyne with _all kinds_ of stories of her bedroom antics, mostly in excruciating but informative detail. But Myranda had clearly been holding back. Never in her wildest imagination could Sansa have thought _anything_ could feel _this_ good. She threw back her head with a loud moan and clutched at him, one hand crushing his fingers and the other wrapped in his hair in a way that had to be painful, but Sandor didn't seem to mind. She squirmed and shrieked and sighed, and Sandor kept a firm grip on her hip with his free hand, never letting up for a moment. She panted and begged and called out his name, and he went on and on and on, kissing, licking, and sucking at her, until abruptly, he stopped. 

 

She looked down at him, eyes glazed and unfocused, and before she could ask why in the seven hells he stopped, he was next to her again, kissing her fiercely and replacing his mouth with his hand at her hot, aching center.

 

“ _Fuck_ , little bird, you're so _fucking_ sexy,” Sandor growled into her neck, and slid two thick fingers inside her. Sansa gasped in shock...at first the stretch was slightly painful, but nevertheless made her legs fall open even more. Half a moment later she gasped again, this time at the electric jolt of pleasure, just when she thought she couldn't possibly feel anything more. 

 

“I want you to come for me, Sansa. I want to feel you come on my hand, I want to see how fucking sexy you are when you let go. Go on, little bird, come for me.”

 

Sandor's thumb rubbed at her firmly, right where he had been licking her a moment before, and Sansa whined desperately while she clung to his shoulders, as she seemingly lost control of her body. Sandor was growling “ _come on, come on, come on_ ” in her ear and sucking on her neck, and mindlessly she thrust her hips against his hand. 

 

Something hot began to build inside her...need and frustration twisted wildly in an ever growing spiral, until Sansa felt she was straining for something she could never have. She couldn't breathe, and every single muscle was tensed. Sandor's voice was a low rasp in the background and she was surrounded by his warm, spicy scent. Had she not been lost in the moment, Sansa would have heard her own voice mixing with his, saying _yes_ and _please_ and _more._ She found herself on the brink, on the very edge of something unknown, but instinctively and _desperately_ wanted. 

 

Time seemed to stand still; it could have been a moment or an eternity. Then Sansa felt Sandor's finger curl inside her, and finally, _finally_ , the unnamed thing she had _wanted_ so desperately all night long was upon her, and suddenly her world exploded in a burst of sensation, and she screamed.

 

~

 

Much later, when Sansa could think clearly again, she found herself wrapped up in a pair of strong arms and tucked up against a broad chest. She smiled, and snuggled a bit closer. 

 

“Back with us, little bird?”

 

Sandor's voice was low and teasing again, and Sansa reached up and kissed his scarred cheek in reply. She knew she had drifted off for a few moments, and was too sleepy to feel awkward about it. Sandor was dropping soft kisses into her hair, and whispering that she shouldn't go back to sleep, that he needed to take her home. 

 

Sansa pouted and hid her face in his chest, but she knew he was right. She should at least set the alarm on her BlackBerry so she wouldn't stay the whole night. What would Jeyne say if she showed up tomorrow wearing the same clothes from the night before! 

Luckily her jeans hadn't strayed far, and she could reach her BlackBerry without too much trouble. She fished it out of her back pocket and sent Jeyne a quick text. 

 

_LadySansa:_

_fyi Randa was right: u will SO totally know it when u have one._

 

_JeyneP:_

_wait WHAT!!!! Where r u???_

 

 

 

_JeyneP:_

_omg srsly??? ur going to just SAY that & leave me hanging?_

 

 

 

_JeyneP:_

_I better get all the deets later._

 

 

 

_JeyneP:_

_Sansa? ? ? Ugh I hate u._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~
> 
> So don't be mad but I never intended them to have sex here, it IS their first date, and it took Sansa WEEKS to get him to kiss her, so you know, I didn't think it would make sense for them to go *all the way* on their first date. That being said, I had NO intention of it turning out so dirty anyway...! Alas. I hope you enjoyed. :)


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